A Message from Floor 89
by Raiden616
Summary: In memory of those who lost their lives during the September the 11th attacks.


Oneshot. I wrote this in one night, so it might not be that great.

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**A MESSAGE FROM FLOOR 89**

Joey Wheeler sat at his desk on the 89nd floor, in the early hours of the day. Wiping the sweat from his brow, he continued to flick through some papers sprawled out in front of him.

It was tiring work, but he did what he had too to make a living. His drunk of a dad wasn't exactly gonna start giving him an allowance any time soon. That was one of the reasons why he took a summer job. Partly to earn some money, but mostly to get away from his father.

It was his dad who had paid for this journey to New York, only to go nowhere but the hotel room. See nothing but a bottle of vodka and a fuzzy television.

But there was one other reason why he wanted to take this journey. He didn't tell his dad about it, since he would flip out. But two people very special to him had promised to fly in to meet him. Two people he hadn't seen or spoken to in almost seven years.

His mother and his little sister were probably on the plane right now, getting ready to land. They said they would get there at around nine, and Joey didn't know what to think. He was excited about seeing them again, but he couldn't work without nerves flooding his system. The thought back in his head, he checked the clock.

Quarter to nine in the morning.

"Nervous, are we?" The voice hit him the back of the head like a punch, and he spun round in his chair. His boss' make-up filled face, and yet as sweet as ever, stared back at him. "Shouldn't you have left by now?" she continued. "I gave you the day off remember?"

He swallowed. "Y-yeah. Sorry."

The boss laughed. "What are you apologising for? If it's anyone's inconvenience it's mine."

Joey nervously joined her laugh, but he hardly meant it. He had this terrible feeling that there was something wrong. He had never felt this nervous in life. "Sorry, Barbs. Just, this is an emotional time for me, y'know?"

She smiled. "I totally understand. Go on, you better get going. I'll finish up here."

"Thanks!" Joey blurted out, getting up without thinking. His hand brushed the desk, scattering the papers onto the floor, and he almost tripped over the chair leg. As he bent over in embarrassment, he actually saw his drops of sweat hit the floor.

"Man," his boss continued. "You are nervous. Run along, now. Go on, chop chop. Can't keep the family waiting."

Without saying a word, the blonde New-Yorker sped off towards the exit.

"Oh, and Joey!" the boss called after him.

"What?"

"It's Barbara to you."

Smirking playfully, Joey continued his foot journey to the doors, and swung them open to face three, beautifully decorated elevators. He stepped up to the closest and popped the button with his right thumb, but what happened next did everything but help his nerves.

A small buzz hit his ears, and the elevator didn't move. Frowning, he pressed it again.

Nothing.

His hands were shaking pretty fiercely now, and he told himself "Just the elevator, just the elevator". But he tried another one, and the same thing happened. Praying, he tried the third and final elevator.

No luck.

"Dammit!" he cursed, punching the walls of the elevator, and the resulting, earth shattering bang slammed against his ear drums. But he wasn't that strong.

Then he realised that something was wrong. The walls around him began to shake, and another crash was heard, this one even louder than before. The drywall cracked in several places, and the worst feeling in the world came over him.

He felt as though the entire building was swaying back and forth. He felt it so much that he had to struggle to stay up. Panicking, Joey forced open the double doors that he had just ran through. They were now stiff and hard to open.

The room was hell on earth. A torrent of dust fell from the ceiling, and smoke filled most of the air around them. It was almost impossible to see in there. The hearing was worse; everyone was screaming, save for a few people who were lying flat out on the ground, their hands clasped and their eyes closed in deep prayer.

A woman ran up to him, and he instantly recognised her as Barbara. "Joey!" She screeched. Her face was covered with dust, stained with fresh blood, and her clothes were almost completely brown. "Thank God you're okay!"

Although he hadn't been out of the room for a minute, it was as if Joey had been gone for hours. "What the hell happened!" He noticed her face. "You're bleeding."

"I hit my head." Her sentence was short, and to the point. With a flick of her hand, she dismissed it in a second. "We dunno what's goin' on. Mike thinks he saw a plane."

Barbara fell to her knees, gripping tightly onto Joey's dark green jacket. He was the cleanest person in the room, fending off dust with his hands.

He looked around frantically, trying to assemble something that even remotely resembled a sane plan. Finally, he asked, "Is there a fire exit out of here?"

Without replying, Barbara pointed in the rough direction of the stairwell. Lifting her up by her arms, he helped her towards where she had pointed, until finally coming across a tight stairwell. The staircases were narrow; only wide enough to fit about two people at once. And people were already pouring in.

There was a little less dust outside the office, but a quick look upstairs showed otherwise. Through a thick cloud of dust and smoke could be made out an array of flames and small explosions. The strong smell of burning gasoline filled the disgusting air. Ignoring the horrors around him, and still holding a weak Barbara in his arms, Joey began to descend.

It was only a few floors down that he decided to take a breather. It felt like 1000 floors, and his feet were already throbbing. He gently pushed the doors of another office, but the door didn't budge. Trying desperately to fight the traffic on the stairs, the now very dusty teenager rammed the door with his shoulder. He couldn't do it that hard, since Barbara was still in his arms, but it didn't take that much to get it open.

The inside was almost as bad as his office, although their was hardly any dust. Smoke only existed near the edges of the room, and it was almost as clear as day. A woman was talking on her cell phone, whilst a man on a stool was trying to activate a sprinkler by banging it with a high-heeled shoe.

He looked at Barbara. She was dazed and exhausted, which Joey rolled his eyes at, since he had done all the walking. He set Barbara down and leant her up against the wall.

"I'll be right back," he whispered to her. "Right back."

He jogged over to the nearest window; he needed to act quickly, but at the same time conserve energy.

The view through the glass was magnificent. He had never noticed it until now. The ground looked so far below, and the unblemished structure of the South Tower stood directly in front of him, taunting him. He tried not to look at it and stared out to the Hudson River.

Then he saw something which he never thought he would see. A black and white blur rushed vertically past the window, flopping in the breeze. In a few seconds it was gone; many, many floors below, but he knew what it was.

At first he thought it was a suit, but that preposterous idea was soon knocked from his head. Somebody had just fell past the window. He didn't know what had happened; whether they were forced out in some way, or whether they had jumped. Suddenly, another fell, taking the same path as the previous person. Then he saw one more, a few windows down. Unable to bear it any longer, he turned quickly away, and noticed that everyone else had done the same. But, although he despised the concept, a terrible urge ran through his head and his heart.

_Get out. Forget about everyone else. Just get out._

He collapsed onto his hands and knees, thinking he was going to be sick. It was against every principal he knew, but he couldn't stop the thought going through his mind and his heart.

Then, somebody put a hand on his shoulder, and spoke to him in a loud whisper. "Do not worry." He looked around, every negative feeling suddenly gone from his system. He didn't know the person. He was a tall, bald, Asian fellow, about twice his age.

He spoke again. "I know what you're thinking, kid. And don't worry, we're all thinking the same thing. It doesn't mean you don't care." Without saying another word, the man disappeared into the see of workers that covered the office.

The man was right. He did care. Up until now, he had always felt alone. He had retaliated on others for his unbelievably regrettable childhood, but now he knew what made life important. He finally understood what Yugi had been talking about that past year. He now understood exactly why Yugi stood up for him when Ushio was about to beat him and Tristan up, despite the fact that he was always mean to Yugi.

In a disaster like this, the most important thing is love. Upon realising that, he suddenly felt the vibe that lifted him pleasantly to his feet. From everyone in the room; from everyone in the building, came a feeling of love. None of the messages being sent out by phone or e-mail were messages of hate or revenge. They were messages of love – and now it was his turn.

Digging around inside his pocket, he fished out what he was looking for. A silvery-grey cell phone, brushed with dust and small amount of blood, was in his sweaty palm. The battery was very low – there was only enough left for one call, and he knew exactly who he was going to use it on. Not the police, nor the fire department.

"Hello?" responded a panicking female voice as the phone connected.

Joey took a deep breath, and all was silent for him. "Ma?"

His nerves were gone as he heard a voice reply on the other end. "Joey!" It was Ma alright. "Oh, Joey thank you God! Thank you; thank you!"

He smiled. "Ma, calm down. Where are you."

"I'm in California." He heard her swallow on the other end. "Serenity is fine. Our flight got rerouted, I'll explain later. Where the hell are you?"

"I'm in the World Trade Centre." He strained his mind for every detail. "There was some kind of explosion. I think I'm on about the 80th floor of the North Tower. We're trying to get out."

Both of them were silent for a moment, as neither new what to say next. Joey was the first to speak.

"Ma," he began, as the low battery warning sounded on his phone. "I gotta tell you something."

"What, Joseph?" As if she didn't know.

"I…I…" Stuttering, he took another breath, and said the three words which made his day. "I love you."

"I love you too, Joseph," his mother replied. "We both do."

"I love you." He repeated the words, never wanting to put the phone down. Mere moments ago, it had seemed like the most complicated combination of words to say. But now nothing could be simpler.

"I love you too."

For the first time in his life, Joey Wheeler cried like a baby. He swept his hand across his face, wiping away the mixture of dust, tears, blood and sweat. "Ma," he began, hesitating.

"Yes, Joseph?"

"I-I'm scared."

That was also the first time that Joey had ever said those words. He had always thought about himself as being anything but scared until now. He was expecting her to say, "Me too", or something along the same lines, but a different line came out. One which he, nor anyone else, would ever forget.

"Call me when you get to the bottom."

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In memory of those who lost their lives during the September 11th 2001 attacks.


End file.
